


Smiling: A Milkovich Christmas Eve Tradition.

by RedStarFiction



Category: Shameless (US), gallavich - Fandom
Genre: Christmas, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Fluff, Happy Milkovichs, M/M, No Angst, Protective Mickey Milkovich
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-15 04:40:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13023420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedStarFiction/pseuds/RedStarFiction
Summary: Anon: Hi! Please could you write some of Mickey's childhood Christmas experiences please? Happy or sad, I don't mind. Thank you :) xHi Anon! I've decided to do a series of drabble fics for this prompt that will lead to a slightly longer final chapter. I hope you enjoy them. It's all happiness, some of it Milkovich style, but it's still fluffy :) Enjoy and thank you for your prompt. Han xx





	1. Aged 24

Ian has counted the number of times Mickey has let Yev flick the channel over without complaint: Four.

The times he has let Yev clamber over him without telling the kid to keep still: Six.

The number of times he has let Yev take miniscule sips of his Budweiser to see if he likes it: Five 

And most confusing of all to Ian, the number of times Yev has yelled ‘Christmas tomorrow!’, right beside Mickey’s ear without being told to keep his voice down: Three.

It’s their first Christmas with Yev waking up at their place in the morning to see if Santa has been, and Ian’s bank balance suggests that Santa got carried away just a tiny bit and will most definitely be paying Yevgeny Milkovich (and his Papa) a visit. Ian had expected Mickey to be a bit softer than usual but actually, Ian is beginning to wonder if he is going to have to be the bad cop for once. 

“Yev, bud, quit bouncing on the sofa.”

“He’s fine.”  
Mickey smiled over at Ian and ruffled Yev’s hair.   
“It’s Christmas Eve, right buddy?”

“CHRISTMAS EVE!!!!”  
Yev roared and although a little nerve near Mickey’s eye jumped, his smile didn’t waver. Ian’s lip curled upwards in a small, confused smile.

What Ian didn’t know, because Mickey hadn’t yet thought to tell him, was that smiling on Christmas Eve was a Milkovich tradition and one that his boyfriend took very seriously.


	2. Aged 5

“I don’t wanna do it.”

“Mikhailo, just hold still.”

“I look like a dick! … Ow!”

“Watch your mouth. Oh! Baby! Look in the mirror! You look so cute!”

Mickey looked at his reflection and scowled. The costume was homemade and it looked like a glitter monster had thrown up on him. Somewhere beneath the layers of tinsel and the stupid little cardboard star on his head, was a green t-shit, one of his dad’s, and the whole thing together was meant to symbolise that Mickey Milkovich was a Christmas tree. 

“C’mon, baby. Just this one time? For me?”

Mickey looked at his mom’s reflection and sighed, setting his teeth firmly in his lower lip. 

“If Lip Gallagher laughs at me, I’m gonna hit him and you can’t yell at me for it.”  
He said curtly as his mother gave him a small smile, her eyebrows raised.

“Deal. But you gotta smile in the play. I want happy photos. No scowling.”

“You don’t have to come. It’s just a stupid play!”  
Mickey huffed out an exasperated breath, his stern expression collapsing into giggles as his Mom wrapped him in a huge hug and tickled his tummy.

“MAMA! Quit it!”

“Am I invited to your play?”

“Quit it, is what you’re invited to!”  
Mickey laughed, squirming until she released him and placed a kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Smiling is what I like to see. It’s a Milkovich Christmas eve tradition.”

“Smiling? What do we have to smile about?”

“Less than some, more than others. I have you. I’m going to smile for that.”

Mickey ducked his head bashfully and folded his arms. Dad says he’s a mama’s boy and getting too big for these things so he tries hard not to be too soft. His mother kissed him again and grabbed his coat.

“Alright, tough guy. Let’s go!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amazing edit by the wonderful Nicrenkel


	3. Aged 8

The sound of the door opening had both boys crouching low behind the sofa. Iggy hefted the bat up to his shoulder and Mickey set his mouth in a determined line, nostrils flaring slightly as he clutched the empty whisky bottle firmly by the neck. They were ready. There was a muffled curse and the light flickered on at the same time as both kids jumped out from their hiding place.

“Jesus Christ! What the fuck you little shits doin’?”

Terry growled, catching the clumsy arc of Iggy’s bat in his hand and glaring down at Mickey, who had managed to land a decent thud on his father’s ass with the bottle.

“Shit! Sorry Dad!”

“Sorry!”

Mickey echoed his big brother and hastily dropped the bottle, face flaming beneath the weight of his Dad’s scowl.

“We thought you were Santa.”

“Wha …?”

Terry was utterly trashed and swaying slightly on his feet. He wanted another drink, a quick jerk off in the bathroom, and then to go to bed. He hadn’t been planning on being attacked by his kids and ending up with a bruised ass cheek and he hadn’t decided whether he was pissed or amused.

“I know you said Santa lost our address, but he’s a magic fucker right? So maybe he found it again!”

Iggy offered quickly, letting go of the bat and hastily shoving Mickey behind him, backing away just in case.

“So?”

“So then if he found it and came to leave us a present, we were gonna beat the shit out of him…”

“And make sure he fuckin’ remembered for next year.”

Mickey finished his brother’s sentence with a menacing grin. Terry pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a small bark of a laugh.

“Right. So then what was the plan?”

“Take all the presents and sell ‘em at the Alibi.”

Mickey shrugged and Iggy nodded in agreement.

“When you told us he lost our address, Mandy started cryin’. No one messes with the Milkovichs.”

Iggy said firmly and Terry nodded, looking down at his boots.

“Yeah well, listen, you two little assholes go back to bed and I’ll stay out here. If he comes, I’ll sort shit out but you stay in your room til morning. You hear me?”

“Yes Dad.”

The answer came in unison and without hesitation. Terry handed Iggy his bat back and ruffled each of his sons hair in turn.

“You boys did good. Proud of you.”

Mickey had never heard his dad say such a thing to him or to any of his brothers before. He looked at Iggy to make sure that he’d not imagined it, and the huge grin on his brother’s face told him he hadn’t.

The next morning, Mickey woke up and wandered out into the living room, rubbing his eyes blearily. His father was passed out on the floor beside the sofa, snoring loudly. Next to him was a note, scribbled on the back of a shredded utility bill envelope.

_You are good kids. Ho Ho Ho. ~~Dad~~ Santa _

Mickey grinned and peered inside the envelop, finding a few grubby dollar bills, a couple of smokes, and a condom. Mickey figured it was probably just the contents of his dad’s pockets before he fell asleep but the note was nice and even if Santa never showed up, at least Dad had tried. It is another Christmas eve that he goes to bed smiling.


	4. Aged 12

Mickey’s pockets are stuffed with nail polish, fishnets, and eyeliner, and he’s fuckin’ glad Mandy didn’t want toys this year cause security has tightened up a lot in the mall since last Christmas.

Iggy and Colin have gone to do the big stuff and Mickey was supposed to just be cruising and causing a bit of a distraction but then he saw all the girly shit and thought of Mandy and now he’s sprinting down the length of the mall with two guards chasing him. If he gets caught, his Dad is going to go fuckin’ ballistic and Mickey is probably going to spend prison in juvie.

He dodges around legitimate shoppers and raises his hand in greeting to a couple of fellow South Side scammers and then he is pushing through the swing doors and out into the cold Chicago air. He flips off the mall guards as he disappears between the rows of parked cars and lets out a happy whoop of success once he makes it to the sidewalk. He slows his sprint to a trot and finally to a walk. Jamie stole him the sneakers last week as an early Christmas gift and right now, Mickey thinks they’re probably the best gift he ever got. The rest of his clothes don’t fit right, all either too big or too small, but the sneakers are perfect. He lifts a roll of wrapping paper from outside a dollar store near his home and grins to himself imagining Mandy’s face when she gets to unwrap some actual presents. 

She is sat on the sofa when he comes in from the cold and looks pointedly at the roll of pretty paper under his arm.

“You got presents to wrap?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I help?”

“No!”

“Is it cause they’re for me?”

“Mind your fuckin’ business, assface!”

“Dickhole!”  
Mandy yells after him, but it’s Christmas Eve and they’re both smiling contentedly. Mandy waits until his bedroom door closes and then slides her own stolen wrapping paper and the knuckleduster that she knows her big brother is going to love, out from beneath the couch


	5. Aged 13

The house was freezing and the fridge was empty. Jamie and Colin had gone out to try and jump a couple of pizza delivery guys but who knew if they'd actually bring anything decent back? Mickey and Iggy got into a fight, mostly just for something to do. They traded insults and then fists, the blows half-hearted. Iggy sucked his teeth impatiently as Mickey tried a left hook at close range and lightly jabbed his little brother in the throat, causing him to drop like a stone, wheezing.

"You always leave yourself open, asshole!"

"Don't!"

Mickey choked, massaging his throat and glaring at his brother accusingly 

Iggy lit a joint and blew smoke fondly onto the top of his brother's head, leaning down to help him up. It was going to be a shitty Christmas. Terry was in the can which was a blessing in some ways but without his income things were tighter than usual in the Milkovich house. Jamie was supposed to be in charge but he'd got in with some chick and was more interested in banging her seven times a day than going out and collecting on debts owed. 

Iggy and Mickey had given it a go and managed to shake down a couple of meth-heads but the dealers they need to collect decent amounts of money from had laughed them off. It didn't help that Mickey was short as shit. Iggy hoped the kid would have a growth spurt or something cause otherwise he might as well go legit - no one was ever going to take him seriously. They passed the joint back and forth a few times, then Iggy nodded to the games console. 

"Wanna play the new Mortal Kombat?"

"That's Pop's game. We ain't supposed to touch it."

Mickey chewed his lip anxiously and Iggy gave him a small smile. 

"So? What's he gonna fuckin' do?"

Mickey looked furtively over his shoulder - just in case. At thirteen, Mickey was developing a horrible and accurate reputation around the neighbourhood as a proper up and coming little thug, a true Milkovich in the making. He did all the right things: he stole, he dished out beatings, he could take a punch and he was afraid of nobody ... well ... almost nobody.

"Lighten up, Mickey. It's nearly fuckin' Christmas."

Iggy rolled his eyes and stuck the game on. It wasn't that he didn't share a healthy fear of their father, but he had stopped believing that the old man could just appear like some horrible fucking ghost as soon as they did something wrong. 

At first Mickey just watched Iggy play, but when the world didn't come crashing down, he tentatively stuck his hand out for the remote. Iggy ignored him for another match, but as his characters skull got crushed with the flat of a bloody katana sword again, he swore and handed it over to Mickey, who turned out to be pretty fucking good. At some point Jamie and Colin rolled in with two pizzas, a mountain of semi-warm fries and a thirty pack of beer. Mandy came out of her room and put some music on. It was kind of like a party and because Mickey was the best at the game, long after his older brother's would normally have told him to fuck off, Mickey got to stick around, drink beer and smoke pot with them.

"This is awesome! Best Christmas ever."  
He mumbled drunkenly to Jamie, resting his head on his oldest brother's heavy shoulder. Jamie frowned at him but didn't shove him off. 

"Ho! Ho! Ho! Mother fucker." 

Iggy grinned, snatching the control pad out of Mickey's hands and flipping him off affectionately. Mickey tried to respond but the pull of drink was stronger than his desire to insult Iggy and sandwiched between his siblings, he fell asleep - a small smile on his face.


End file.
